


The Cons of Being the Seed of a Wallflower

by BingingBill



Category: Perks of Being A Wallflower
Genre: Death, Depression, Grief, Letters, Obsession, Post original book, Sexual Abuse, Suicide, Truth, daughter - Freeform, tw
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-07
Updated: 2017-10-07
Packaged: 2019-01-10 04:42:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12291486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BingingBill/pseuds/BingingBill
Summary: Eileen didn't know who her father was.She used to think he was a secret agent, a mysterious man leading a double life. She wasn't wrong about the last part. In her person letters to an unknown recipient she details her desperate actions to understand the man her father was. Studying his letters published posthumously and interviewing the people he thought he knew. Eileen buries herself in questions and the answers she searches for. Yet one question still remains, will she figure out the answers or will she ultimately succumb to the mystery and be lost forever?





	1. Chapter 1

Dear Friend,  
I am writing because I have read a book.  
A book about a boy named Charlie.  
In this book, Charlie enters a world of mystery, illusion, love, sex, tragedy, destruction, obsession, and grief.  
I am writing because Charlie is my father.  
I am writing because my father died when I was three.  
But most of all, I am writing because I read his letters.  
Like my father in his book, I have decided to change names. I do not want anyone to be found or questioned.  
They deserve their privacy, they deserve to live in peace, they don’t deserve to relive their senior year for the rest of their lives.   
I know I can not delve deep into what I learned before telling you what happened when I learned it.  
I have decided that my name is Eileen.  
I always liked to imagine who my father was.  
My mother (who I shall call Violet), would help me not grieve over someone I never knew (which I have a habit of doing) by telling me he was some secret agent.  
I wrote little stories about him. I still have one, it’s at my mother’s house. They were about him returning and letting me join him on all his wacky adventures.  
Except there were no “wacky adventures”.   
When I was twelve I stopped believing that I had a secret agent father and asked my mom where he really was. All I got was the dreaded “I’ll tell you when you are older.” that all children must suffer through.  
But, I am older now.  
I can remember on my twenty-first birthday, she mailed me my gift. It was a book with a celery green cover and a picture of someone’s legs in front of a polka dotted wall on the upper right corner. The Perks Of being a Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky. I remembered watching the film. Someone at a party recommended it to me when it came out. When I went to the theater to watch it, I was merely unimpressed. Your typical indie movie, high school drama schlock that they market each year with a different title. I left an hour into the movie.  
I thought the book would be the same thing so I didn’t bother to read it. Until my mother called me and asked me if I had read it no more than a day or two after she sent it.  
“I have. And I liked it a lot, thank you for sending it”  
“I’m so glad you enjoyed it. We really need to talk.”  
“ Of course, what is it?”  
“ No, Eileen … we need to talk in person.”  
“ Is everything okay?”  
“Yes … No … it’s just really important”  
“...”  
“Don’t freak out, it’s okay as long as you have read it”  
“I did, but why?”  
“It’s just really important. Just come to the house when it’s convenient, goodbye”  
I tried to speak but I was cut off by the tune of the line going dead.   
Needless to say, I spent the whole night reading that book. 

As always,  
Eileen


	2. Chapter 2

Dear Friend,   
I went to my mom’s house.   
It poured and poured gallons of rain that night.  
As much as I knew how urgent she made the situation seem, I still had to work until six. I hopped into my used buick and raced as fast as I could (without breaking any laws mind you). It took a little longer than it should have, due to traffic and a few wrong turns.   
Yet, I made it.  
They say your childhood home looks small when you return. I guess they are right, but I always knew it was.  
Her house was between two other houses.  
One side was blocked by a brown picket fence.  
The other didn’t have a picket fence at all.  
That was the house owned by my kindly neighbor.  
His name was Mr. Rows. He was an old man with many children. His wife had died and all of his children were grown. My mother would always let him visit even when she wasn’t home. I would let him in all the time.  
One time when I was ten, she arrived home when he was watching me. Apparently, something was wrong. She was very mad.  
I don’t remember what she said to him.  
But I do know that I never saw Mr. Rows again.  
Now that I am older I know why, but I don’t think I would like to discuss it with anyone.   
Especially here, at a time like this.  
I’m going too deep into things that don’t matter.  
I need to get back to the house.  
It was small and white.  
The door in the center and the windows next to it were painted crimson on a dry day, but on a rainy night they looked almost brown.   
There was a blue star ornament hung on the door.  
That was new. I wonder where she got it.  
I parked in front of the house rather the driveway.  
Instead of walking on the pavement like a sensible person would do in the rain, I sloshed on the lawn.  
The lawn was a mud pit with patches of grass.  
It also had one of those decorative wells.  
I never understood the purpose of it.  
It wasn’t like you appeared any more “rich” that you had a fake well on your lawn, especially when it appears to be sinking into it.   
I was too busy judging my mother’s lawn ornaments to notice that both of my socks were wet.  
As I reached the concrete stairs to the front door, it got harder and harder to walk. I even tripped on a stump.  
A stump of a tree that was cut down when I was away.  
A wave of nostalgia hit me as I recognized the stump.  
It was the stump of a tree that Mr. Rows tied a swing to.  
As much as I didn’t like to think about Mr. Rows, I still remembered having a lot of fun on that swing set.  
I was half pleased and half distraught it was gone.  
I finally made it up the stairs and knocked on the door.  
My mother greeted me into a world of heat.  
It hit me so hard because I got used to the cold.  
She wore her standard get up, her gray buttoned up dress, her white slippers, and grave expression.  
This expression was graver than usual.  
Even though she smiled weakly at my arrival,   
I couldn’t help but feel taken aback by the somber aura that she invited me into.   
She would normally tell me to take my boots off before I came inside, but this time she didn’t.  
I did it anyway, though.  
“What awful weather we are having.” I said to her as she lead me into the living room.  
“I have to disagree,” she replied as she sat down.  
I sat on the couch opposite of her.  
“I like the rain, It washes away all the rotten things”  
I thought about it for a bit.  
“I guess that is one way to think about it.”  
There was a brief moment of silence.   
She groaned.  
“I’m so sorry, I’ll be right back” she frantically left.  
“All right,” I called after her.  
I took this time to examine the living room.  
The living room is the biggest room in the house.  
However, it has the least stuff inside of it.  
It has two red brown couches, a single black coffee table between them, an antique wardrobe with the television inside, a ceiling fan light, and two lamps.   
I was broken out of my living room trance when my mom sat back down. She set something down on the table. I picked it up to study it. It was one of my old stories. Remember, the one that I mentioned before?  
I smiled and flicked through the yellowed pages.  
“You even drew the art yourself” said Violet.  
“You were always such a little artist, so talented”  
Even now, I snicker when she calls me a talented artist.  
I drew everyone with small heads, big eyes, and no nose. I mean, if you saw one of my “lifelike works of art walking” down the street you would stare at them until they walked away and wondered what the hell happened to them. I didn’t snicker then, though.  
I read through the numerous misspelled sentences.  
This was the secret agent story.  
My heartbeat picked up a little.   
“I’m guessing you understand why I brought this”  
“I think so.”  
Another brief moment of silence.  
“Did you bring the book?”   
I paused for a bit, then realized what she meant.  
“I didn’t, it completely slipped my mind. Sorry.”  
“It’s okay, I never told you to.”  
She took a deep breath and laid back on the couch.  
I didn’t lay down because my jeans were dirty.  
Violet cushioned her head in her frizzy hair.  
“Did you like the book?”  
“I did.” I actually did like the book, a lot.  
“Well …” She paused  
(I know it sounds like I keep repeating myself,  
but there were many pauses throughout my visit)  
“This might not be easy to hear, but …”  
Every fiber of being was screaming with anticipation.  
“Charlie, the boy in that book, is your father”  
At that moment I understood.  
I understood that my mother had fucking lost it.  
“Really?” I acted shocked and tried to play along.  
“You think I’m crazy don’t you?”  
“What? No” She was so fucking crazy.  
She sighed.  
“Are … are you Sam?”  
“What? Of course not!” She thought I was joking.  
“What can I do to prove that I am serious?” She asked.  
“Nothing, I told you I believe you.”  
“Eileen …” she stopped to think  
“Mom, I really do.”  
She shot up, whatever she was thinking about, it hit her.  
“I’ll be right back …”   
I looked out the glass sliding door to the back porch.  
The door was right next to the couch my mother sat.  
I could barely see a thing without the occasional lightning flash to light up the dark.  
The rain poured hard upon the roof, I could almost hear it over my heart. Which was still pounding from the realization that my once sharp mother was now a raving lunatic. I wondered what she was coming back with.  
She carried an old white book with a split spine.  
Class of 1994 - 1995.  
She dropped it on the coffee table and began turning pages. She stopped and motioned me over.  
“That’s him,” she pointed to a rather plain boy in his senior year. A boy who looked nothing like me.  
She looked at me hoping for me to respond.  
Maybe to tell her that I didn’t think she was crazy.  
I told her she wasn’t, but we both knew I was lying.  
She sighed.  
“How about you tell me what happened.” I suggested.  
“What happened?”   
“You know, how you met, what he was like, the usual.”  
I thought if I played along things would be okay.  
“I met him in ‘94,” she began.  
“My freshman year. I’m sure you understand the fear one experiences when they join highschool, especially if your only introduction to it was Stephen King’s Carrie. I promised myself I would not be Carrie. So as soon as I got invited to a party I made sure I wouldn’t screw up. Me and Diane,” she stopped to ask me if I remembered Diane. I said I did even though I didn’t.  
“Anyway, me and Diane were ecstatic to be invited to a senior party. So we went all out. Miniskirts, tank tops, drugstore makeup, the whole shabang. We even drank at the party. I took a sip of that awful banana vodka and threw up, but Diane drank as much as she could no matter how sick she felt. She was almost wasted while I acted like I was. We threw ourselves onto any and I mean any guy who even looked slightly interested.   
And one of those slightly interested guys was Charlie.”   
I started to understand why she waited to tell me.  
I guess a fourteen year old having a one night stand with some strange senior at a party where alcohol was involved wasn’t as kid friendly as a secret agent sweeping my mom off her feet and taking her away.  
“Charlie wasn’t all that popular, it was surprising he even showed up to the party. As far as I knew he didn’t have many close friends. Most of the people there were his acquaintances. Anyway, although I flirted with tons of guys, Charlie was the only one I had … real intercourse with. I dragged him into the pantry and as uncomfortable and awful that experience was for both of us, it still happened. So after the party, we didn’t talk. We didn’t even know each other's names. About three months later, I took a pregnancy test as a dare. You could feel the shock of me and everyone around me at the sleepover where I found out I was pregnant.”  
She sheepishly looked at me.  
I guess she thought I was going to be angry or sad when I found out I was “an accident” I didn’t really care.  
“I wasn’t one of those girls,” she continued.  
“Who would have sex all the time. In fact, I was three months pregnant when I found out and I immediately knew who the father was. I didn’t know his name, but I knew what he looked like. I thought about talking to him, but what was I going to say? “Hi, remember me? I was that random girl you met at the party. Yeah, I don’t blame you. Well, we are definitely going to start remembering each other because you’re the father of my child!” No way. So I just waited it out until it was unavoidable to not tell my parents. They were reasonably mad, of course. But they said that they would support my decision to keep or get rid of the baby.” she stopped again, expecting some form of reaction from me. I still wasn’t mad or sad.  
Since I gave no negative response, she felt it appropriate to continue with her story.  
“They told me I had to let Charlie know, that I was pregnant. He had as much decision as I did. So I went up and told him straight. He just sort of stood there, slightly uncomfortable, slightly understanding. He offered to drive me to a clinic. I told him I didn’t want that. I felt it was my responsibility, to continue on.”  
She stopped again, I don’t know if she wanted me to be grateful that she decided not to abort me or feel bad that she felt obliged to keep me, as always I had no reaction.  
“He understood and we began dating. He felt like he was responsible too and taking me out was his way of helping. He introduced me to his family, but the only person who knew I was pregnant then was his sister. His sister Candace, was very supportive and understood what I was going through. She was once pregnant herself before deciding to get an abortion. But anyway life just sort of went that way until it ended. You came three months early, but you made it. After that me and Charlie just grew apart. He just slowly weaned away from me after he felt like he “repaid me”. Come late April, It was like I didn’t even exist. When he was already long gone before he left college and I never saw him again.”   
We sat in silence for a short while.  
I still thought she was crazy.  
Yet, I did think her story was true.  
Just a mash of faces and names, smashed together in place of the ones that really were.  
“Do you still think I’m crazy?”   
“I never thought you were.”  
She stared at the ceiling.  
I decided to keep her mind on a subject.  
I read somewhere that that is a good thing to do with a delusional person, so they don’t throw a fit.  
“So where do you think dad is now?” I asked  
She shot up into the upright sitting position.  
Then she took my hand.  
“Oh, honey … sweetie, he …” she trailed off.  
She took a deep breath.  
“After highschool, he went to state college. He dropped out after his first year. From what I know, he spent two years at his parents’ house. Then he checked into the Horizon Motor Inn, … it’s actually not far from here.”  
I wondered how she knew all this, then I remembered that she was insane and that I was humoring her.  
“In November, he bought a gun.”  
My heartbeat picked up. She didn’t tell me what kind of gun it was, she probably didn’t know.   
“He stayed in that room until January …”  
The rain was less heavy, it fell quietly on the roof.  
Her hands lay upon mine, cold as ice.  
As if my hands were beneath a corpse’s.  
“ On, January fourth 1999, Charlie … ended his life.”  
My heart dropped into a pit of despair.  
I wanted to weep, I still don’t know why.  
I didn’t know him, but maybe the fact I never will was the reason why I felt like sobbing for a stranger.  
The agent was off the grid, killed by the masked menace and all his faithful sidekick could do was cry.  
She stared into my eyes.  
I stared at the sliding doors next to her.  
I couldn’t see much in the darkness.  
“I was invited to the funeral,” I faintly heard.  
“You were just a child, so I didn’t tell you.”  
So were you, I thought. So were you.  
“It wasn’t a large funeral, just his family and Mary Elizabeth and I. God, it was just a terrible experience.”  
Her face drained of all color she had left.  
It must have been just as terrible to remember.  
“His other family members didn’t know who me and Mary Elizabeth were. I think his grandfather was more confused than anyone else. He looked at me as though I was some puzzle piece that didn’t fit in the box.”  
We sat in the sound of the dying rain.  
Growing quieter and quieter.  
“His poor mother, she was a wreck. She had lost a child what would you expect from someone going through that? She was mad at everyone, especially at me and Mary Elizabeth. She was enraged in a way only people going through immense pain are enraged.”  
I couldn’t hear anymore rain.  
“‘Where were you then? Where were you when he needed you the most?’. It could feel her ripping me apart with her words. She never yelled, but you could tell how she felt. Every soft, subdued word was positively dripping with pure hatred and malice. I broke down as soon as she said that. I tried to cover my face but it was obvious that I was bawling. When I got home, my mother was infuriated that she has said such a thing. ‘She has no right, no right at all! What on Earth could you do? He left no calls, no return address, it was him who abandoned you! The only person she has to blame is him, it is as much your fault as mine, girl.  
And I didn’t even know him!’ I knew she was right, but it didn’t stop me from feeling guilty. Later, Candace called saying she came to apologize on her mother’s behalf. ‘There wasn’t anything you could have done.’ She told me. I said that I don’t want her mother to beat herself up about what happened and that I am sorry that she lost her brother. She thanked me for my condolences and hung up. And that’s that.”   
I was taken aback by her story.  
“You still don’t believe me, don’t you?”  
“I do believe you.”  
I actually did believe her, even if I only believed a little.  
She passed me an index card.  
Candace Kreevy and an address I could only assume belonged to this Candace.   
Charlie’s sister.   
“If you don’t believe me, fine. But if you want to learn more visit her as soon as you can. I lost her number so just pray you meet her at a convenient time.”  
“Thank you.” I said  
She nodded and dried her eyes.  
I hadn’t noticed she was crying until now.  
“Are you hungry?” she asked  
“Hmm?”  
“I bought some beef patties at the new Walmart.  
You know the one down the street. I could fry one up for you if you like. Eating something hot, is good for you especially in this kind of cold weather.”  
Before I could decline, she was already in the kitchen.  
Taking the box out of the freezer.  
I sighed and sat at the island.  
“Would you like any ketchup on it? Or mustard?”  
“No mom, plain is fine.”  
I listened to the sound of the burger frying.  
I replayed everything that she told me in my mind.  
She reminded me of that woman on Doctor Phil, who thought that a song was about her. I don’t remember the title of the song, but she tried to claim royalties from it.  
It turns out she wasn’t the inspiration, shocker.  
I looked at my mother humming over the burger.  
It was hard to imagine that she was like that woman.  
She handed me the burger, which I ate half of.  
It was in between two slices of sandwich bread.  
I guess she forgot to buy them.  
I hugged her and she reminded me about the card.  
I told her I wouldn’t forget.   
We said our goodbyes and I walked out the door.   
I didn’t bother putting my boots back on.  
They were soaked.  
I thought it wouldn’t be as bad walking in my socks.  
It was as bad.  
The rain had became a mere mist that coated the night.  
The cold on the other hand, never left.  
My footprints on the lawn had become puddle bases.  
They had been weathered into different shapes.  
With my boots in my hands, an address in my pocket,  
and frostbite on my feet, I drove away.  
My mind reeled from the experience.  
Was she crazy? Probably.  
Was I just as crazy for thinking she might not be?  
Definitely.  
Everything blurs together.  
I wonder what I will do with the card.  
Should I throw it out? Should I visit this woman?  
It’s almost maddening considering either.  
It’s raining again. Harder than before.  
And I don’t know when it will stop.

As Always,  
Eileen

 

 

 

h

**Author's Note:**

> Yikes, this is the beginning of the fic I hope yall enjoy it.


End file.
